Highs and Lows

Yesterday I received news that a dear woman I’d visited in long-term care had died. Alzheimer’s had already stolen most of the joy from her life. Only the week before her doctor had proclaimed her in palliative state. Gone now was the confusion that had settled in her life, and gone the pain she seemed to be suffering on those last few visits. I mourn her death, for she had become dear to me.

I’d known Pat through our women’s retreat each spring. I believe she attended every one that I did. I didn’t know her so well in those early years, but later I came to know her kindness, her love for her family, and her wacky sense of humour as well as her excitement when we played Pictionary on the Saturday nights. And then nearly two years ago, my husband and I joined a new church, of which she was a member. We sat near each other and shared the peace with a hug many times.

Despite the growing dementia, I heard her voice loud and clear behind me, in the creed she’d been reciting for most of her lifetime, and the Lord’s Prayer. Those she knew by heart. And the old hymns that I heard her say she preferred to the newer pieces. That’s okay. We appreciate different things; I love the newer pieces too.

And then one day I learned she’d been placed in long-term care because her wandering had become a concern for her family and potentially dangerous to her as well. There was a waiting time while she adjusted—when she felt upset and out of place—but after that time I went to visit her as often as I could. We had snacks together, a picnic in their outdoor area, and times to visit. She kept saying she’d be back to church sometime, she didn’t know just when. And she did ask about going to retreat again, even if she remembered the chill of the room we stayed in last year together in late April (though she was tucked in under warm comforters).

Pat’s mutual friend, Terry, and I kept each other posted on how Pat was adjusting. And Pat knew us and appreciated our visits. I said each time that I’d be back. And I did go back. In the last month or two, we sensed that Pat still liked having company but perhaps didn’t really know who we were.

And now Pat’s struggle is over and we’ll soon celebrate her life with her family and friends, and church family. I imagine her family will share stories about her, ones we don’t know, and I look forward to hearing what they tell us. 

Pat's pain and confusion are gone, but the warm memories she created have not. As June, fellow member at church, wrote on Facebook about Pat today, “Heaven gained an angel.”

May she rest in peace.   

 My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you?  John 14:2 NIV

Carolyn Wilker is an author, editor and storyteller.

https://www.carolynwilker.ca/about/